The Gardener

Proud Margaret stood in her father's doorway
Straight as a willow wand
And by there came a gardener bold
With a red rose in his hand, his hand,
A red rose in his hand

Oh you shall have my rose, fair maid,
If you'll give your flower to me
And among the flowers in your father's garden
I'll make a gown for thee, for thee…

Your gown shall be sweet smelling thyme
And your apron celandine
Your petticoat of the chamomile
Come kiss, sweetheart, and join

Your gloves shall be of the clover flower
And your shoes of rue so fine
I'll line them with the cornflower blue
Come join your love with mine

Since you have made a gown for me
Among the summer flowers
So I shall make a suit for thee
Among the winter showers

The milk white snow will be your shirt
That lies your body next
And the night black rain will be your coat
With the wind all at your breast

Your boots will be of the bramble briar
That nothing can betide
The water wan will be your steed
Light on, young man, and ride

The hat you wear upon your brow
It will be of the weather gray
And every time that you pass by
I'll wish you were away